


The Great Escape

by deaneatscake



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Dean is a human disaster, Grinding, M/M, Near Death Experiences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 16:12:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14139696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deaneatscake/pseuds/deaneatscake
Summary: Dean and Cas hook up. After that, Dean does what he does best: he leaves, because there’s no way in hell he’s going to deal with - whatever this is. He even has an excuse - people are dying, and Jody needs his help.It would be great if he wasn’t madly in love with Cas, Cas equally angry at him and the case - well, it’s all quite literally killing him.





	The Great Escape

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to kuwlshadow for providing super great art for this fic and 60red0m for beta-ing it, although I've been a terrible human desaster to both of them!!! <3 One day I will find you and give you hugs and banana milk shakes (or milk shakes of your choice).

ctly is this code, kindly shared by Dr-Dean and CenedraRiva:

 

“Dean—” Cas is fumbling with his zipper now, and it’s too much—it’s not enough—they shouldn’t—

_(He doesn’t even know how they got here in the first place, what kind of sorcery this is, why Sam isn’t with them anymore, why they’re alone in his room and why he—)_

“Cas...” He sighs into Cas’ mouth and attempts to push his hands away from his jeans—they shouldn’t do this. It’s bad enough that they’re _kissing_ right now, but they can still go back—

_(It was a game—without rules—at first. They’d stumbled into his room, drunk off their asses, with only a few inches separating them, and then—then it gets kind of blurry..._

He’s on top of Cas now, grinding against his stomach. He can feel Cas’ erection pressing into his ass, can hear Cas moaning. It’s probably too late now—he’s so—he’s been so _on edge_ since they started this—there’s no way he’s going back—

_(How did they get here, seriously? They’d just wanted to watch a movie, and yeah, he didn’t have to sit so close to Cas and rub his shoulder—he’s not…_ normally _like that, but the whiskey and the beer, this weird night…)_

Cas is cupping his ass now, pulling him even closer, their mouths never leaving each other, and the time for fooling around’sover. This isn’ta game anymore—it doesn’t even feel _real_ anymore—and he desperately needs something, something that he can cling to. He digs his fingers into Cas’ shoulder and the moan that follows is both from pain and pleasure. He knows they should—they probably should—

_(He_ ’ _d_ _always imagined their first kiss either being_ _chaste_ _under the moonlight or_ _angry_ _against the wall_ _but this_ — _this is different, this is real_ — _it’s not some kind of fantasy_ — _they’re kissing and who cares who started it, who cares that Dean’s hands are still on Cas’ back, the movie long forgotten_ — _who cares, who cares_ — _)_

This is some teenager level ofgrinding here, but he’s not embarrassed. He just buckssenselessly against Cas, can’t decide between getting some desperate friction for his own cock or feeling Cas’ cock at his ass. He starts kissing Cas’ neck, wants to hear all those tiny little moans as loud as possible, and it’s embarrassing—it really should be—but all these things have gotten him so aroused, and who knew that just kissing could still get him so—so worked up, so desperate to come and he’s pretty sure he’s close now and Cas, too —Cas—oh god, Cas, he’s kissing Cas—

_(Jesus, Cas can’t even kiss properly at first. It’s way too wet and kind of weird but they soon fall into a rhythm and he asks himself what he’s doing here, how this can be both a dream and his worst nightmare, and more importantly, if he wants to wake up_ — _)_

And with that, he’s coming inside his pants and it’s embarrassing and great and life-changing all at once, and Cas just needs a few more pushes to get there, too, to grab Dean’s neck and pull him into another hungry kiss before moaning and coming, too, and Dean swears that he can feel it, can feel Cas’ cock pulsing against his ass and, _Jesus_ , that kind of gets him worked up again and then—

_(If they do this now, things will never be the same. This isn’t a game, they’re not playing for an audience_ — _)_

Then it’s over.

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Three hundred and fiftymiles away, David Glenn is heading home from his daily jog in the evening. It’s quite cold and the light from the street lamps isjust barely reaching this part of the forest, but he doesn’t care. This route has always been his favorite, and the low-hanging fog and the frost on the grass definitely make for a pretty picture.

He’s doing his usual short pause at the last crossroad before home—even he isn’t bold enough to just stop in the middle of the forest—when he notices a small dog running towardshim. No, it’s not even a dog—it’s a puppy, probably a Labrador, barely looking older than a few months.

“Hey, buddy, what are you doing here?” he asks when the puppy is at his feet. It doesn’t have a collar, but it looks like his neck is missing a bit of fur. “Where’s your owner, hm?”

The puppy only barks and starts to jump up and down in front of him before picking up a twig, looking at David with its big puppy eyes.

“Oh, you want to play? We can play, but only if your owner says yes, hm? Where’s your owner? Or did someone just leave you outside in the dark?” He reluctantly takes the twig out of the puppy’s mouth—it’s very well behaved, so probably not a stray dog—and throws it a few feet.

The dog brings it back instantly and David decides that it probably would do no harm to keep it busy until the owner shows up—if they do. It’s really cold; he shudders and doesn’t want to think about the possibility that someone really just decided to get rid of the puppy.

With a deep bark—deeper than he would have anticipated—the puppy jumps up at his legs again and practically shoves the twig into his hands. He sighs. If no one shows up in the next twenty minutes, he’s going to call animal welfare.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Dean feels a little bit like a child who’seaten too many chocolate bars—spectacular at first, but now he just wants to puke because he didn’t know when to stop. The few moments that he needs to climb off Cas—and, Jesus, his boxers are already getting uncomfortably sticky—seem longer than anything else that he’sever experienced.

He contemplates what to say—something that conveys that ‘this was a mistake’ without actually saying it, because he can’t bring himself tosay those exact words, but Cas beats him to it. The way he smiles at him, genuinely, makes Dean’s stomach turn. They shouldn’t have done this.

“I liked that,” he says. _Fuck_. Of course, he did. Of course, he’d have to deal with this.

“Yeah, that’s sex for you, buddy,” Dean answers while trying to come up with an excuse to leave this conversation, or hell, even the country. He can’t deal with anything Cas says right now—he doesn’t have the energy to keep this going as a casual hook up; he certainly doesn’t have the sanity to keep this going as an honest-to-god relationship, because he’s a royal fuck-up and Cas doesn’t need that. He may need Dean’s dick pressed against his stomach, though, but that’s about as far as they should get.

Now, he only needs to tell this to Cas. Cas, who’s just about to strip off his clothes—they may have skipped a few steps—and sink intobed, handling the blanket like he belongs there. And Dean wishes hedid—it would make everything way easier. “Should we watch the movie now?” he asks and hell, they’ve already gone to shit now—they’ve ran over the cliff and jumped—so he might as well enjoy his last few hours as a bloody pulp on the ground.

He puts the movie on, gets under the blankets and tries to ignore the way that Cas basically snuggles up against him. He falls asleep halfway into the movie, which is probably the best for all (the parties)involved.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Dean wakes up with a crook in his neck, his dirty boxers still clinging to him and a Cas-shaped lump on his chest. It’s hard to breathe with Cas’ weight on him and the soft music of the DVD menu, probably playing on an endless loop, bothers him to no end.

He feels like he’s floating, but not in a good way. More like floating in the middle of an ocean that’s suspiciously calm, just waiting for the storm, and he has no idea in which direction to paddle to find solace. The memories of yesterday come crashing down onhim and he doesn’t even bother trying to find an excuse for letting this happen.

There isn’t one.  


Sighing, hecheckshis phone to see what time it is. It’s just after 4am, which is just his luck—that’s usually not an unreasonable time to be up, at least not for him. There’s also an unread message—his blood runs cold thinking Sam might have overheard them—but thankfully, it’s from Jody.

He lets out a relieved breath and opens it.

It’s a photo of a young man on an autopsy table, his head and neck looking purple and his chest completely squished. Under that, there’s a message from Jody:

_Death by suffocation. Got killed by something heavy but no sign of it at the crime scene. Third body this month and I’m at wit’s end. Could use your help. I’d make dinner._

Cas is stirring in his sleep, poking Dean’s ribs with his elbow. There’s a short moment of uncertainty for Dean before he softly pushes Cas away and stands up, trying to make no sound. It seems to work because Cas just rolls over and buries his face in the pillow and it’s _not_ endearing _at all_.

There are bodies and Jody needs help with them—he shouldn’t lose time. Yeah, it’s totally reasonable to leave. Who cares if it’s 4am? The sooner he gets on the road, the sooner he’s there. It doesn’t look too complicated—it’s not like he needs Cas and Sam for this, not if Jody is already up there. It’s not a cop-out—except it totally is—but at the very least, _Sam_ doesn’t have to know this.

He slips out of the room with just his phone, keys and wallet, showers just because he has to, and puts on the spare set of clothes he keeps in the Impala for emergencies. This totally warrants emergency clothing, he thinks, as he types a short message to Jody.

_Be there ca. 12pm. Expect lunch._

2)

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It’s 8am when he has to admit that he just isn’t going to make the drive in one go; he hasn’t eaten yet and he feels nauseous. Also, the thought of Cas or Sam waking up is driving him mad and making him squirm around in his seat more than he’s used to. He still hasn’t messaged them—he’d justified it with not wanting to let Jody wait—but now that he’s in line at a greasy diner, surrounded by grumpy people who are all driving to work, he can’t help but fiddle with his phone every few seconds.

Just when he cashier asks him with a monotone voice, “What do you want, Sir?” his phone buzzes. He drops it and watches helplessly as it slides under the counter. The people behind him startto groan when he tries to retrieve it,the most obscene curses flying from their lips. “What do you want, Sir?” the cashier repeats when he’s standing straight again, still looking as bored as ever.

“A coffee,” he says, “and a slice of apple pie.”

“No apple pie,” the cashier says while he types the first order in. He points to a sign behind him. “No pie served until 10am. You are welcome to choose from our selection of baked breakfast goods.”

_Apple pie is a freaking breakfast good, whatever that even is_ , Dean thinks angrily, but in the end, settles for a glazed donut and a sandwich. He heads to the car because he doesn’t want to prolong the drive longer than he already has to. Inside, he takes a huge bite from the donut and looks at the new message. It’s from Jody, and just a simple _Got it!_ He breathes a huge sigh of relief when he realizes he can delay the confrontation with Cas a bit longer.

The food is terrible but he still chokes it down before heading back to the road. The phone stays quiet for the rest of the drive and he doesn’t know whether that should concern him or not. It’s entirely possible that Cas is either sad or furious—both emotions he couldn’t blame him for—and Cas can be a petty bastard when he wants to. Or maybe he really just slept in like he tends to do. Or maybe he thinks Dean is—what, out buying breakfast or something?

Dean swallows.

He pulls up into Jody’s driveway a bit before 12pm only to find Jody already outside, waiting for him. She smiles at him brightly when he gets out of the car but it feels almost too bright, too forced; the deaths seem to have taken a toll on her. “Thanks for coming so quickly, Dean,” she says and pulls him into a hug. “I don’t know why this keeps happening in my area. Maybe I’m a monster magnet.”

Dean smiles. “You’re something alright,” he says. “You got food for me that isn’t a stale donut?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Jody answers. “But to be honest, I expected you to show up with a few more peeps. Now you gotta eat everything on your own.” It’s an accusation if he’s ever seen one, but not an unkind one; she’s actually giving him an out to avoid this situation.

So all he says is, “Yeah, well, I thought wecouldhandle it.” Thankfully, she doesn’t press further and instead signals him to follow her inside.

“I got you an appointment with the coroner at 2pm,” she says, “and the files for the deaths are on the kitchen table. Oh, help yourself with the drinks, please. I don’t know what you drink outside of beer. Claire and Alex are sending their regards—they’re both busy with whatever teenage girls are doing now. Probably investigating something. I don’t even want to know anymore. Last week, they ganked a ghost together, and that was _three days_ after Alex said that she’d stop.”

Jody keeps blabbering all the way from the hallway into the kitchen, serving him a hot pumpkin soup. She even sits down with him at the table, sorting through the files and laying out the most important pages.

The soup tastes heavenly, way better than anything he could have gotten at the diner, and his phone mercifully stays quiet during lunch. He asks the appropriate questions at the right time—which isn’t hard because he really _wants_ to know what the girls are up to these days—and listens intently while Jody talks about Donna and her recent date with a guy _who’s so much better than Doug, you don’t even know._

It’s almost homely, at least until Jody cautiously asks, “So, how’s Cas?” He almost chokes on the spoon full of soup; it burns its way down his throat while he scrambles for an answer.

“Cas and Sam are great,” he answers equally cautiously. He strategically mishears the part where she only asks about Cas. Whatever she thinks she knows about him, she most certainly doesn’t. “We actually had a few days off and—a movie night yesterday.” Yeah, great movie night. Dry-humping your best friend and falling asleep in his arms. The best.

“Really?” she asks surprised. “Sam told me he went to bed early yesterday.”

“You talked to Sam today?”

“Oh, no, he told me that yesterday. We actually talk sometimes. That shouldn’t come as a surprise.” She winks at him playfully. “He needs someone to keep him sane with you guys in the bunker.”

Dean pushes the empty bowl away from him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks warily. Promptly, Jody takes the bowl and stands up to put it into the sink.

“Just that you guys apparently like to get drunk a lot,” she says while she soaps up the dishes. She doesn’t look at him and he’s grateful for that. “ _And_ you got Cas hooked on greasy burgers. Sam said that you don’t even make him spinach omelettes anymore like you used to. But I’m happy you and Cas are getting along so well. Sam will get over it.”

If he had any more soup inside his mouth, he’d probably spit it out right now—get along well, yeah, you could say that. Sans the fact that he screwed up their friendship—relationship, —whatever—majorly when he came inside his pants on top of Cas and then vanished the day after. Listening to Jody saying all these kind of innocent—and not so innocent—things makes something deep inside Dean recoil and he feels like even more of an ass than he’s used to.

He pulls out his phone before he can think better of it but loses his courage when Jody turns around. “You should bring him around some time,” she says. “An actual angel, I need to see that.”

“Ex-Angel,” he corrects her, ignoring the twitch in his gut and nervously flips his phone around in his hand. “But, um, yeah, maybe when lives aren’t at stake, right?” He points at the pages she sorted out earlier. “So, care to fill me in? I didn’t have time to google anything.”

“Oh, yeah.” She sits back down at the table and pushes three pages to him. He skims through it— all show a different person, two men, one woman, under thirty and looking fairly fit. No police record, and at first glance, nothing that connects them except that they all live in about the same area, near the woods.

“So, these three people got suffocated.” Jody explains. “Coroner says they died because something heavy was pushing on their rib cage—think a car—but there’s no sign of _anything_ like that at the crime scene, and trust me, you’d need something really heavy for this. For all it looks like, it’s as if they just dropped dead in the middle of the streets. They were found in slightly different places at different times and no one saw anything until after their death. All three healthy and good citizens, no connection as far as I can see, but you’re probably better at finding obscure connections than I am.”

Dean takes his time to look through the files again. “Anyone noticed anything different about them? Or did they just—drop dead one minute?”

Jody shrugs. “Not that I know of. But I haven’t talked to the girlfriend of the newest victim yet. The family of the other two said that they didn’t notice anything differently, but they haven’t seen them in a while, so there’s that. Oh, and I think the first victim—Joanne Kings—went to the doctor two days before her death? But it was only for cough medicine.” She sighs. “It doesn’t look like any monster that I know of. To be fair, it doesn’t look like a monster at all if you leave out the fact that these deaths aren’t scientifically possible.”

“So, no mass murderer who runs around with a fridge and buries people under it?” Dean jokes. “No, it definitely sounds suspicious. Maybe a ghost,” he muses. “Any car accidents or work place injuries you know of? I guess a pissed off ghost could produce enough strength to mimic that.”

“I can go look through the files, but I doubt it. There haven’t been new construction sites in this area in decades. Could look up car accidents, though.” She stops for a moment, eyeing him up and down. “Maybe you should go ask the boys if they know something,” she says then. “I know you said we can do it alone, but if this isn’t a ghost, we could use some backup.”

“Uh, sure.” He feels like he’s being interrogated—but without knowing the questions or, even worse, the answers. “I actually wanted to text them before I go over to see the body.”

Jody smiles brightly at him and puts a hand on his forearm. “I’m going to head over to the station. See if I can find any pesky deaths that could be responsible for this. You’ll find the morgue alright?”

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It’s ten minutes before 2pm when he pulls up into the driveway. He still hasn’t texted anyone anything—and the silence from them is making him even more anxious—so he figures that if he doesn’t do it now, he’ll probably have to drive off a cliff to avoid seeing any of them ever again.  Torn between a short and clinical ‘on a case,’ and a rambling apology, and an ‘it’s not you, it’s me,’ he finally settles for a ‘ _hey, sorry I took off so quickly, Jody is really in a bind rn. Probably heading home in a few days, don’t wait up’._

He sends the message before he can reflect ~~o~~ n the bunch of shit he wrote—don’t wait up on what? Him acknowledging what happened? Him acknowledging his feelings? Certainly good advice for Cas, but it still feels shallow. Because he can’t possibly make it worse, he sends the same text to Sam, only to get back an almost instant _fuck you_.

Well, that settles his worries about Cas talking to Sam. Groaning, he puts the phone back in his pocket. Hemajorly fucked up, and Jody is probably in on it, too, which means now they’re all going to make it bigger than it is—it was just a mistake. Fueled by pent-up frustration and a lot of unacknowledged love, yeah, but also a _mistake_. Why couldn’t Cas keep his mouth shut? He feels his phone buzzing again in his coat but since it’s almost 2pm and he doesn’t know how to fix anything, anyway, so he ignores it.

Inside the building, he puts out his FBI badge and the secretary points to the heavy iron door next to her. “Third door on the right,” she says. “Miss Klein is already waiting for you.” He nods and makes his way to the room. It’s a small office, laden with colorful pictures and lots of plants. Miss Shaw is sitting at her desk, smiling brightly at him.

“Hello, Mr….” she starts, but then trails off.

“Snicket,” he hurries to say.

“Mr. Snicket. I’m Laura Klein. Miss Mills already told me that you were coming. She requested further help, I assume? Didn’t know the FBI could be interested in a few untimely deaths in a small town.”  

“Oh, yeah, we absolutely are.” It’s easy, falling back into this fake persona, making up the biggest bullshit, but still being believed because he has a badge. He wonders why it can’t be so easy in every part of his life. “See, every death that can’t be explained right away is interesting for us. Especially when it’s the, um, third body this month?”

He waits for her polite nod before continuing. “I’d like to have the full reports on every autopsy and, if it’s possible, I’d love to see the body of—David Glenn, right?”

“I already prepared a file for you.” She stands up and signals him to follow her. “What we’ve got is, basically, nothing. I mean, that’s not true. We got a lot actually, see, but nothing that makes _sense_.”

They walk down the hall to the morgue. Glenn’s body is the only one currently there. Tanya walks around the table and explains, “His death is actually very standard. See his skin? Not enough oxygen because”—she points to his rib cage—“his lungs were crushed. That’s the short version. You’ll find the long one in the files. Now, if we had pulled him out from under a car or a crane, I wouldn’t blink an eye. But we plucked him off the street and there were no outside wounds that you would normally see as a byproduct. A few splinters, maybe, or definitely bruises. He just got… crushed. Maybe by the weight of his life choices, who knows.”

She laughs dryly about her own joke before returning her attention to Dean. “It’s not a very alluring sight.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Dean says. It’s not the worst body that he’s ever looked at—not by a long shot—but, somehow, it makes him uncomfortable.

“So, if the FBI could give me an explanation about who did this—because _someone_ must have—I’d be forever grateful. I don’t want another body like this on my table.” She swallows heavily. “They were all good peeps, you know. Knew Vivienne personally. And they didn’t deserve to be killed by some kind of psychopath who doesn’t even have the decency to leave some evidence behind. Or did you manage to find something at the crime scene? Mrs. Mills sadly didn’t.”

Dean shakes his head and she continues, her pain carefully masked. “You want to take another look at the body or are you fine with the reports?”

Dean looks at the corpse. He knows he’s great at bullshitting his way through autopsies—he even picked up some knowledge along the way—but he doubts that he’ll find anything more on the victim. A ghost is still high up on the list of suspects, and for that, he doesn’t need to take a closer look.  


“No, um, I’m good,” he says. “If you could just give me the files, I think that would be enough. But if you find anything else, let me know.”

“Well, not to be rude or anything, but I really hope we’ll never have to see each other again.” She winks at him and he understands it as the playful banter it is, but he doesn’t have it in him to respond equally. So he just smiles and nods at her, making a gesture that’s supposed to signal ‘lead the way’ but is probably more dismissive than anything else.

After that, the atmosphere is frosty, but he gets what he wants—the files—and gets back to the Impala without putting another foot in his mouth. More out of routine, he pulls out his phone just to see that the message from twenty minutes ago wasn’t from Cas, but from Jody, telling him that Glenn’s girlfriend isn’t available until tomorrow morning. Great.

He considers writing another message to Cas but ultimately decides against it. There’s nothing new that he could tell him—he already said it was going to take a few days—and if Cas doesn’t want to talk to him, that’s fine for him. Really. It’s better for all involved; they can just go back to ignoring everything like he used to when he comes home.

_If Cas is still there then_ , a strange voice pipes up from withinbut he ignores it. Cas is always there. And nothing is different from yesterday—not really. There’s no reason for Cas to leave. Dean wants him there, with every fiber of his being.  


Cas _won’t_ leave.  


He lets his head drop onto the steering wheel.

_Focus, Dean, focus,_ he tells himself, otherwise he won’t get anything done here. It doesn’t help that he wants to both finish this as quickly as possible but also never, so deciding what to do next proves to be kind of hard. Glenn’s girlfriend isn’t available—great. What he hasn’t done yet was look at the crime scene. Jody had said that there had been no evidence there, but while Jody was definitely a skilled cop and hunter, it was quite possible that she had overlooked something.

He shoots a quick text to herand gets an almost immediate response with an added, ‘ _Didn’t find any angry ghosts yet, but I’m going to keep looking.’_ The area isn’t that far away from the morgue and he parks at the edge of the forest.

The text from Jody informs him that David Glenn died at the traffic light while Joanne Kings was found in the middle of the street. The third victim, Terry Shaw, had died almost reaching the fence of his own home.  


From the crossroad spans two ordinary looking streets, if not even more peaceful—there are a lot of family homes with picket fences and perfectly mowed lawns. There’s a speed limit. He makes a mental note to ask Jody about that—maybe someone died here which prompted them to put up this sign.

Otherwise, the area is almost creepily calm. A look at his watch informs him that it’s not even 3pm so it makes sense—most peoplestill working and kids still in school, but even so, it feels an otherworldly quiet. He feels almost invasive when he pulls out his EMF-meter, although he doesn’t have high hopes of finding anything—the signal’s going to be pretty busted with the power lines that traverse the city.

He spends at least ten minutes at the different death scenes, walking in circles, even wandering up to the door of the Shaw house, but as expected, he doesn’t find anything. The EMF-meter stays quiet and there’sno ectoplasm either which kind of bothers him more. The deaths were pretty violent—no rookie ghost could have done this.

It’s of course still possible that someone had cleaned it up because they’d thought it was just  regular waste.  


Dean huffs.  


Of course it would’ve been too easy if it’d been a straightforward case. He’s going to have to rely on Jody’s research. With a sigh, he puts away his EMF-meter and decides to head back.

On his short way back, he still doesn’t see a single soul and starts to worry. What if it’s something else otherthan a ghost? This area’screepy. It could be a curse or something. “Fuck,” hemutters. He probably should have brought Sam and Cas. Whenever they deal with a curse, Sam’s the one to ask. Of course, he could always shoot him a message but—no. Not gonna happen.

It’s probably not even a curse, he tries to calm himself. It’s just a chilly day and everyone who doesn’t have to be on the streets decided to stay at home and make themselves a hot cocoa. It’s not exactlyweather to play outside either which would explain the lack of children. They’re all just too busy playing Mario Cart or whatever the cool kids are playing today anyways.

He’s almost at the Impala when something heavy hits him in the shin. His hand on his weapon, he turns around, ready for whatever.

But it’s only a dog. No, it’s not even a fucking full grown dog—it’s just a small puppy that’srunning excitedly in circles around him. “Shit—hey, buddy,” he says, putting his gun away awkwardly. “You frightened me, man. Where’s your owner?” The puppy, understandably, doesn’t respond. It probably doesn’t even hear him since it’s still bouncing up and down like a wind-up doll.

Well, that’s great. While the puppy’scute, he still isn’t fond of dogs. And if it’s a stray, he doesn’t know how to get rid of it. Although, considering the dog looks pretty well kempt, it’s probably not a stray. Maybe he managed to break free of his collar. Skeptical, he watches as the dog picks up a twig and brings it to him, wiggling his tail in invitation.

“Oh, no, thanks, buddy,” Dean says. “I’m not into playing with dogs. You’ve probably got rabies. Not your lucky day.” He attempts to shush the puppy away and succeeds in at least setting it back a few feet. Quickly, he opens the door to the Impala. His shin still hurts as he flops down onto the seat and he curses. At least the dog didn’t bite him, he thinks.

The EMF-meter is carelessly discarded onto the backseat, and he makes his way back to Jody’s, but not before programming her address into his phone. If he has a navigation app, he might as well use it, right? And today, he has all the time in the world. He’s probably going to go through a few files , but otherwise, he can’t do anything. Normally, this would excite him—he likes Jody, and he likes spending time with her—but today is different. She has this aura where she makes you _want_ to talk about things, and Dean can’t have that.

He made a stupid mistake, he’s paying for it, and there’s nothing he needs to talk about. What use would it be? She’d probably dismiss all of his—really good—reasons for why sleeping with Cas had been a bad idea. Even more, she’d probably encourage him to pursue a relationship with him. But he’s nothing more than a fucked guy trying to save the world one alcoholic beverage at a time, and while he knows he’s good in bed, that’s about everything that he’s good for.

He wouldn’t do Cas a favorby confessing his undying love, so he’s wisely kept his mouth shut . If only he had kept it in his pants too…

His hand shakes as he types in the rest of the address. Maybe he should use the free time to hit up some bars, have some _actual_ meaningless sex this time, and avoid Jody while he’s at it.

Somehow, that leaves a sour taste in his mouth. He sits foralmost ten minutes in the Impala, staring into the nothingness, breathing in the chilly air through the open door before he gathers himself and drives back to Jody. Five minutes in, he realizes that itwas a bad idea—sitting there, only in his fed suit, managingto make his throat hurt. He clears his throat, trying to shake the nasty feeling off. If he’s going to get a cold on top of it all, he’s probably going to have to pray to Chuck and ask him to take him in because he definitely overstayed his welcome on this earth.

He shakes his head. Where the fuck did that come from? This thing with Cas is messing with his head. Maybe, he thinks, he should take the time to at least think about it—he certainly didn’t do a lot of thinking yesterday, and this is just going to mess with him in every way if he lets it. He grips the steering wheel tighter. Then again, what’s there to think about? Yeah, something happened that he wanted and dreaded for years now—end of story. He’s just not cut out for a relationship. And he certainly doesn’t have enough qualities to actually attract a literal angel.

Good for a teenage make-out session, but not for anything else. If Cas knew—really knew—what could be in stock for him, he wouldn’t have settled for _him_. And even after that, all he wanted was to finish the movie. For him, it was probably nothing more than a fun activity.

He only idly realizes that he’s currently ten miles over the speed limit when he turns into the main street.

Just for good measure, he contemplates pushing the pedal even more; he probably would have if not for the phone ringing that verysecond. It’s Jody, and he only reluctantly answers the call. “What’s up?” he asks. “I’m ten minutes away from you.”

“I was just wondering where you were,” she says. “You shot me that text over two hours ago.” Dean looks at the phone—that can’t be right. It wasn’t even three when he was at the crime scene. The clock tells him it’s almost 5pm and he frowns. When did that happen?

“I was at the crime scene,” he explains. “I just—lost track of time. I’m sorry.”

Jody laughs softly. “You don’t have to apologize,” she says. “My main concern was actually that you’d be looking for a motel room. You know how pissed I’d be then.”

Leave it to Jody to just drop something like this and actually mean it—he can’t help but smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says. “As I said, just heading back to you. Did you find something? There’s a sign at the crossroad about driving safely. Maybe an accident?”

“Nope,” she sighs. “This is a super suburban district. I think the worst thing that’s happened there are people driving over squirrels and hedgehogs. There were a few accidents on the interstate but it’s pretty far away—you’re sure it’s a ghost?”

He thinks about the place again and the fact that he apparently lost over an hour there. “I wouldn’t rule anything out,” he finally says.

Jody mumbles something inaudible before saying, louder, “Youin for pizza today? I still have a bit of soup left, but—”

“Pizza’s great.”

“Good. The door’s unlocked so just drop in when you’re here—I’m going to order.”

She ends the call and Dean drives the last few blocks in silence. It’s only when he’s almost at Jody’s house that it occurs to him that she didn’t even ask what he wanted on his pizza—she just knew.

Fuck.

He bites his lip. It’s weird, really, because he loves Jody with all his heart, but right now, he wants nothing more than to turn around and drive far, far away. First Cas, now Jody, both doing things that they shouldn’t be doing, knowing things they shouldn’t _know_. Why in the world do people even care about him?

He arrives at Jody’s house in probably the foulest mood possible and takes his time getting out of the Impala. All of his stuff is still in the backseat so he reluctantly opens the rear door to take it out, only to almost get knocked over again. He only barely manages to get a hold of the door and whirls around to see the same dog from the crime scene, happily wiggling its tail again. It even has the same fucking twig in his mouth.

“Holy shit!” he exclaims and resists the urge to just kick the dog. “How the fuck did you get in here? Jesus. I didn’t even open the fucking door!” There’s still no answer. “What the fuck are you? Dude, if your owner abandoned you, that’s none of my fucking business!” He’s probably swearing way too much and too loud, but he doesn’t care.

“If you peed in my car, I’m going to end you,” he says while he looks at the backseat. There seems to be no damage, and he lets out a sigh of relief when he gathers his stuff. The dog is still sitting next to him; he tugs he twig away from it. With as much force as he can, he throws it and watches as the dog happily chases it. “I hope you’re happy now!” he screams and tries to make a quick exit back to the house.  

When he’s at the door, Jody comes out, blinking at him. She’s wearing a puffy sweater and slippers and it makes his bad mood almost disappear. “Why are you screaming?” she asks and follows his gaze back to the street.

The dog is nowhere to be seen anymore. “There was—a dog,” he explains. “And it was in my fucking car. In my _car_ , Jody.”

She tilts her head. “How did a dog get in your car?”

“It was on the street, and then I-I don’t know.” He raises his hands defensively. “I spent a bit of time there trying to gather my thoughts—about the case. It must have jumped in then.”

He realizes how dumb this must sound and the fact that the puppy is gone now doesn’t help matters either. But she doesn’t comment on that, instead gesturing to him to come in before stepping back into the house. “I suppose I’m going to have to call animal welfare,” she says. “You saw where it went?”

“Don’t know. I just threw a twig at it and hoped it would disappear. Which it did.”

“I’m impressed. Always figured you threw stuff at dogs to be brought back. You must be, like, a dog whisperer or something. And here I thought Sam was the one who’s into dogs.” They step into the living room where the TV is already on. It’s an episode of Dr. Sexy, although it’s a rerun. “You up for it? I know you normally don’t bother with chick stuff”—she winks at him—“but it’s a guilty pleasure for me.”

He’s almost one hundred percent sure that she knows about his interest in Dr. Sexy—Sam must have brought it up—but he happily takes the out and just nods, trying to look as reluctant as possible. They settle in on their respective couches. Dean nods again, wondering if they’re really just going to watch an episode without addressing the elephant in the room. Or maybe there isn’t even an elephant in the room. Maybe he misread all of this—she certainly doesn’t look at him like he’s apprehended or like she wants to give him a lecture anytime soon.

With a deep breath, he lets himself sink into the cushions and makes himself as comfortable as possible. And really, it’s just a bit of banter here and there, mostly about the show, untilthe doorbellrings and Jody stands up, shushing Dean’s attempts to help. She comes back a minute later with a large pizza box in hand. “You need napkins?” she asks and Dean shakes his head.

Dr. Sexy comes to an end as they dig into their first slice. The pizza is a meat-lovers dreamand more greasy than he would’ve liked, but it’s still good. They’re silent for a while until they’re almost stuffed and Jody looks at him expectantly.

“It’s good,” he says, hoping that this is what she wants to know from him. But she just tilts his head and keeps staring; he can almost see her mind working, trying to come up with a proper way to address...whatever this is.

“Is it okay if I ask you something?” she says.

And that’s—well. It’s not like he didn’t expect it. He finishes his slice and goes for the next one, trying to delay the inevitable. The most he can do right now is shrug, and he hopes she takes it as the invitation it is and makes the whole process short and painless.

“Cas”—he holds his breath—“He’s like—not Claire’s father, but something like that, right? How much does he know about her?”

The bite he took was way too big. He coughs as a tiny piece can’t quite decide which way it wants to go. This was definitely not what he expected to hear. “Um—I don’t think that they’re that close. They sometimes text,” he explains. “And he gifted her that Grumpy Cat but I don’t know if she didn’t just dump it into the next garbage can.”

“Oh no, no,” Jody says quickly. “She keeps it with her everywhere she goes. It’s probably all the way up with them in the motel right now. That’s really cute of him, though. He really seems like a great guy. I’m missing out.” She playfully smacks him and he does his best to not choke on the pizza again.

“Anyway, what I wanted to ask you about—Alex and Claire.” She looks at him pointedly. “They’re kind of—well, close. They’ve been going on hunts for the last few weeks, although Alex said that she wanted to quit for nursing school. And they went to a lot of concerts. Like, a lot. I think they paid for a few of them with fake credit cards.”

Well, that certainly sounds like the Claire that he knows. He tells Jody as much and she shrugs.

“I know…but it’s just—sometimes I feel like I don’t even know them anymore. I mean, that’s probably what all parents feel at one point in their lives, but it’s—hard to adjust. And I’m worrying that Alex is doing things because she’s just so…close with Claire that she would do anything just to be near her, even if it’s misguided.”

“What do you mean?” he asks warily. His heart is beating uncomfortably loud in his chest. Maybe that _is_ a roundabout way to talk about Cas, after all.

“I was just thinking that maybe—they’re—it sounds stupid. They’re probably just friends.” She shakes her head. “But they’re really close and I was wondering if they’re maybe—in love. I don’t want to assume anything, and I certainly don’t want to talk to them about it—not because I feel uncomfortable but because I think they’d just roll their eyes and tell me that it’s not any of my business—so I was just thinking if Cas maybe knows something about this.”

He makes what can only be classified as a gurgling sound—this is definitely not about them, is it? Just thinking about what she said makes him dizzy. Didshe really just ask _him_ for advice, the guy who can’t even figure out the lines between a friendship and a relationship after years of practice? The one who fucks his best friend only to leave the next day without a proper plan for like, _anything_?

His head swims and he can feel his breathing speeding up without being able to do anything about it. “I don’t know,” he manages to push out. Jody seems unbothered ; her eyes are on the TV.

“Oh well, that sucks,” she says. “But when you talk to Cas next time, maybe you could ask him about it? When are you going to talk to him again?”

“What are you asking?” he says as he throws the last slice back into the box. It would be wasted anyway—he feels nauseous as it is.

Jody finally looks at him again and frowns. “I was just asking when you were talking to him again,” she states. “I’m not sure when Alex and Claire are coming back—and I don’t want them to think that I’m spying on them. Are you okay?”

“Why would you care when I’m talking to Cas? Why would you care if Claire and Alex are more than friends? Maybe it’s none of your business?” He talks so fast he needs to take a huge breath of air afterwards, and he still feels like shit.

“Dean, I have no idea what you’re trying to say right now. Do _you_?” She turns off the TV and directs all of her attention to him. “You look really bad, Dean.”

“Well, maybe it’s because you’re—trying to start something. I’m not dumb, I know what you want from me, and you’re not getting it.” What made perfect sense in his head sounds like gibberish when he’s blurting it out, but he can’t stop, won’t stop. None of this makes sense anymore and he doesn’t even notice Jody moving until she’s right in front of him and putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Deep breaths, Dean,” she says and softly massages his shoulder. “You’re freaking out right now. I’m sorry if I upset you.”

“You’re not,” he says, but he feels like a dumb toddler the second that he’s saying it. “Shit.” He tries to listen to her, taking deep breaths, but it somehow still feels like he isn’t getting enough air. “What the fuck is happening?”

“Panic attack? Or you’re just dying,” she jokes. “Who knows.”

He snorts at that. Dying would definitely be preferable right now. At least he’s able to breathe again properly. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I think I said some stupid stuff.”

She shakes her head. “Happens to the best of us. Do you want something to drink? But no alcohol right now, mister.”

“Just water.” He should probably protest at being coddled, but it feels actually good to have someone care for him. He trusts her to work him through the worst of this…panic attack, as he hesitates to call it. If it had been him, he’d probably just sit down there until it went away and then stand up to get another beer.

Well, he never said he was good at self-care. Jody comes back with a glass of water and a chocolate bar. “Not sure if you can eat that after having a pizza, but if you want to, it’s there.” She puts the bar on the table and sits down on the couch again. He takes a large gulp, leaving the chocolate bar where it is—the nausea hasn’t quite relented yet.

He looks at Jody—she looks genuinely worried and confused, so maybe she really didn’t mean anythingand actually wanted to talk about Alex and Claire. It’s unlikely, but maybe his brother isn’t as big of a traitor as he suspected him to be.

“I can hit Cas up the next time I talk to him,” he says. He’s not sure when that’s going to be, but he actually _intends_ to ask. Maybe it would even lessen the awkwardness between them—talking about Claire would be pretty innocuous, right?

“That would be great,” Jody answers, “But don’t pressure yourself. You want to keep watching, or do you have something different in mind?”

For a hot second, he thinks about telling her that yes, he’d love to hit up some bars tonight, but it sounds shallow even in his head. Just the thought of feeling up a random woman tonight makes him want to puke even more; it probably would pale in comparison to last night, anyway. Which is absolutely pathetic, considering they didn’t do anything. Jesus, he doesn’t even know whatCas’ dick _looks_ like.

God, maybe that isn’t the best thing to think about with Jody sitting right next to him. “I think I’d rather just go to bed,” he says before he can think of anyone else stupid.

She raises her eyebrows. “It’s not even 7pm,” she says. “You want to go to bed _now_?”

“Well, I _did_ get up very early to be here as soon as I can,” he points out. “And to be honest, I didn’t have the best sleep yesterday either.” That is a blatant lie. He had slept great with Cas in his arms; it just all went to shit when he woke up.

“Alright.” She still eyes him warily but thankfully doesn’t protest. “Have a good—night then. Or evening. Just don’t freak out on me again.”

“I don’t plan to,” he responds and tries a weak smile to get her off his tail. It probably doesn’t work, but at least he can pretend. Pretending has been a long time staple in the Winchester household and he’s not going to stop now, not today of all days.

He doesn’t go to sleep right away; he’s not tired in the least, and although his full stomach tries to lull him into some kind of drowsiness, there’s toomanythoughts keeping him awake. His throat still hurts and he fears that he might actually get sick which would be shitty for multiple reasons; one, it doesn’t mesh well with his hunter senses, and two, if a sick Dean Winchester makes it back to the bunker, he would need the help of actual people to care for him.

And while with Jody, he could accept that, there’s no way in hell Sam or Casare going tobe making him a hot broth and tea—or rather, if they did, he’d rather eat his shoe than let them do this for him. He doesn’t deserve it, anyway, not after what he’s done. It’s only been a little over twelve hours but he already feels the weight of his decision.

It was stupid of him to go. Had that happened to anyone else, Dean would’ve beenthe first to make jokes about it—hell, he had made jokes whenever Sam had connected with a girl on a case and decided to go without pursuing it, and this time, it was basically the same thing but…about a hundred times amplified. He hadn’t just smiled at a hot witness who’d wanted to be comforted like in a bad porno—he’d jeopardized not only his but Sam’s and Cas’ future just with one single misstep.

God. He groans and pulls out his phone again. There’s no new text message, and the last one from Cas still looms unanswered, even though he’d been online just a few minutes ago.To somewhat salve his conscience, he shoots a new text. _So the case looks weird_ , Dean writes. _Not sure yet what it is. May take a while. And a dog got into my car, can you believe that? At least he didn’t pee over the seats._

He hovers over the buttons, trying to find the courage to build a bridge, anything. _I could still use your help to clean Baby though when I get home; I don’t want any fur in there._ It’s not the best thing —it probably ranks among the worst now that he thinks about it—but the message is already sent, waiting for Cas to see it and hate Dean even more, spiraling deeper into the abyss, letter after letter. Or maybe he’ll text back, ignoring everything that has happened between them and get Dean out of this misery.

He shifts under the covers, trying to find a comfortable position that doesn’t make the tingling pain in this throat worse. The sore feeling is spreading right into his back now and he feels like his age is slowly catching up to him which makes his predicament all the much worse.

There’s no time for self pity though. Just when he’s found a somewhat comfortable position, there’s the familiar ding of a text message, and he stares blankly at the screen, trying to take in the words and make sense of them. _Not interested in that_ is Cas’ response, and it hurts even more than the _fuck you_ from Sam because—well, while he knew that he deserved to go fuck himself, it hurts to read that Cas apparently doesn’t want anything to do with him anymore either.

Which doesn’t make sense, really. While he’s had his fair share of abandoning people after sex, he always imagined that they just—moved on. Hell, it’s happened to him, too, and he knew how it hurt his pride back then, but in the end, well, their loss, right? And he thought that maybe —they were better than that. Above that. And after a brief period of awkward shuffles in the bunker kitchen, they could go back to the way things were. Except— _not interested in that_.

Alright, then. He takes a deep breath, trying not to lose his calm, and the once comfortable position now feels like a cheap joke. “Fuck,” he curses, and hopes it wasn’t loud enough to get Jody storming into his room like he’s a toddler having a nightmare (except that’s quite how he feels right now). He drops the phone on the blanket and turns around. Fuck this. He’s going to sleep now and it may not even be 8pm and he’s not tired and everything sucks, but maybe there’ll be nightmares out there to drown the pain out.

Here’s to hoping.

He wakes up feeling even worse for wear, although his phone clock tells him that he’s been asleep for almost twelve hours. His sore throat has turned into a full blown cough-fest and although his nose doesn’t feel particularly blocked, it’s still hard to breathe at all, and whenever he manages, there’s a sharp pain in his rib cage.

That’s just his luck. He sincerely hopes that this real is just a simple salt and burn and he can enlist Jody’s help for us—anything that’s just a bit stronger than your average middle aged man sounds like something he can’t deal with right now. It’s probably karma, he thinks idly as he stands up and gets dressed in his fed suit.

There’s noise downstairs—Jody’s probablyup if not almost out ~~of~~ the door. He knows it’s ridiculous because he’s pushing forty, but the thought of her making breakfast for him actually manages to entice a smile out of him. There’s hardly anything else to look forward to— there’s no new message on his phone and he’s due to meet David’s girlfriend in two hours, something he’s not sure that he’s equipped to handle in his current state.

As he makes his way down the stairs, he can already smell the bacon and eggs, which seems to be a small miracle. Maybe Jody wants to make it up to him by feeding him the most fatteninggoods that she can think of—if so, he certainly can’tcomplain.

Jody’s nursing her coffee when she sees Dean coming in. “Hey, there,” she smiles. “I was wondering when you’d wake up. You were reallytuckeredout, eh?” Dean tries a nonchalant shrug, trying not to burst outinto yet another coughing fit—he’s only kind of successful with that.

“I have to go now, but I left you the address of Amanda Prince here.” She points to a small post-it on the kitchen counter. “You can eat as much as you want—the rest is all yours.” She points to the plate with bacon and eggs on the table before taking her jacket off her chair.

“There’s also two leftover slices in the fridge if you want to feel particularly disgusting,” Jody winks and puts her phone in her pocket. “I’ll see you later. If there’s anything you need help with, call me. I can use a break.”

“Thanks,” Dean croaks and Jody frowns.

“You alright?” she says and takes a step forward. “That didn’t sound too hot.”

“I think I’m coming down with something,” he answers and sits down at the table, trying to be enthusiastic about the prospect of eating. “It’s alright. Just give me a lot of coffee and greasy bacon and that should do the trick.”

Jody doesn’t look particularly satisfied. “If you need anything _else_ , tea’s in the cupboard next to the fridge and meds are in the bathroom. And _call_ me. I mean it. I’m invested in this, too, and I don’t want you to do something alone, especially when you’re not up to snuff.” She’s almost at the door and Dean just barely catches her muttering, “You really should have bought back-up.”

He debates whether to say something or let it go, but in the end, his petty side wins. “Sam’s not really happy with me right now,” he says, trying to sound like this thing isn’t affectinghim in the slightest. “And Cas wasn’t interested.” That’s one of the biggest half-lies that’s ever gotten out of his mouth.Dean’s gut only doubles over a few times.

“I’m sure it’s nothing you can’t fix,” Jody carefully says, and for the tenth time, Dean wonders just how much she knows. She has to, right? Sam wouldn’t be quiet about such a big topic. This is probably a huge conspiracy, trying to make him feel better and worse at the same time. “And it’s certainly _not_ worth risking your life over it—I’m pretty sure both Cas and Sam can agree with me on that one. Now, I know this could be just your run of the mill case, but if it isn’t, I’d really feel better calling for back-up.”

“If nothing comes up with the witness, I’ll call,” Dean promises halfheartedly. He can definitely call Sam—but Sam probably would hang up within seconds, and tada, it would put all of the blame on _him_ instead of Dean for a change. Well, no, it probably wouldn’t, but at least Dean can dwell in the illusion.

He doesn’t stay too long after Jody leaves, finishing up what is definitely way too much bacon and opening a beer before his conscience gets the better of him and he dumps it all into the sink.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Amanda is a bust, as much as Dean hates to admit it. Except from babbling on and on about how great her husband was and how much she misses him and even how he had a fucking cold just a few days ago. “Could that be what killed him?” she had asked and it had taken all of Dean's strength to not answer _no, it probably was the fact that his lung was crushed until it was as slim as a sheet of paper_.

The only interesting thing he did get out of her what that he had taken a stray dog to the shelter a week or so before his death which immediately leads his mind to the –

Dog. Right on front of him. “Jesus Christ, how many stray dogs does this district have?” he curses before taking a closer look. Come to think of it, it’s not just a stray dog—the glint in its eyes, the twig in his mouth and his happy demeanor…all on top of being as black as night. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think that this was the same dog from yesterday, except dogs don’t grow up that fast.

Well, dogs don’t, but supernaturalbeings might. “Hey, you,” he shouts at the dog. It doesn’t show any signs of actually hearing him, but that doesn’t have to mean anything. If it’s back here after following him to Jody’s—which wasn’t that long of a drive, but definitely not a piece of cake to walk back—and it’s grown, that might mean that it’s bound to this street. This should be enough for Sam to look into the lore.

If it’s not just his imagination, that is. He’s been spun out since yesterday—his head and chest hurt, and embarrassingly, he’s having a hard time breathing after just climbing the small incline up the street. This could easily just be a stray dog—there are a lot of kids living here, after all—it would make sense that the strays areall kind of playful and nice to strangers. Who knows how many dog treats he’s been getting—he certainly doesn’t look haggard.

The dog follows him to the car, all the while wiggling its tail, and Dean realizes that it’s going to follow him into the Impala again, so he angrily picks up the twig and throws it as faras he can. “I hope you’re happy,” he shouts to the dog. “And I didn’t make any fairy or demon deals with you, just so you know!” There’s a woman on the other side who’s staring at him and he tries to smile at her like he didn’t just blabber what sounds like a bunch of nonsense. She picks up her pace, resolutely looking in the other direction.

Whatever. He hops into the Impala while the dog’s away.He drives a good few blocks before stopping again to gather his thoughts. At least now there’s no way in hell this scary thing is going to follow him back to Jody’s again, and come to think of it, it kind of creeps him out that he even let it in the first place. Although, this being doesn’t seem particularly sentient, and, disregarding the previous deaths, he looks completely harmless—but he still shouldn’t have made this foolish mistake. What if it gets back to their home in the night?

Shit. He really should call Sam, even if that’s the last thing that he wants to do right now. But he promised Jody, and it’s not like he doesn’t _need_ the help—driving back to the bunker to research the lore himself wouldn’t help matters, either, especially since he wants to avoid Cas for as long as possible. At least until he’s…reasonable again. Yeah. That’s what he’s talking about. Reasonable. Cas must know that they were just going back to civilized repression, right? It’s—God, it’s what they _do_.

Dean honestly doesn’t know what Cas expected, but then again, he doesn’t even know what he expected, only that a cold shoulder from Cas definitely wasn’t it. He taps his free hand on the steering wheel while dialing Sam, both hoping that he does and doesn’tpick up; he doesn’t have anything planned for either scenario.

The phone rings entirely too long and he’s about to give it up and just try to work magic with Google when there’s an exasperated “I hope it’s important” on the other line.

“Hey, Sammy,” he says and tries to sound as cheerful as possible even though it hurts his throat. “How’s it going?” His throat itches and he coughs. Jesus, he really should’ve taken some meds.

There’s a short pause, and then: “Oh, it’s great. You know. The usual.” Sam’s voice is heavy with sarcasm but Dean’s not going to take the bait. If Sam wants to pretend everything’s fine, that’s all the better for Dean. He’s got a case to run, people are dying, and while thatseems somehow insignificant considering he doesn’t know what happens after that, he’s—well, he’s a hunter.

“You don’t sound too good,” Sam says, although he doesn’t sound particularly worried. “You getting sick?”

“It’s nothing, Sam. It’s called the common cold, and it makes people want to cough and blocks your nose and makes men want to curl up on the sofa and declare they’re about to die. Which I’m _not_ , so onto the more pressing matter,” he says. “So I got this case, you know the one I sent you the text about”—he sincerely hopes Sam doesn’t repeat his fuck-you from before—“and it’s all getting kind of weird. I thought it was a ghost, but there’s no sign of it anywhere, and the M.O. doesn’t quite fit either. But I found something else interesting at the crime scene.”

“And you’re going to tell me that I’m supposed to swallow down everything that’s happened and look into the lore for you so you know what you’re fighting.” It’s not even an accusation; it’s a calmly stated fact, and Dean swallows heavily.

“Well, kind of.”

“Maybe you should talk to Cas about that,” Sam says pointedly. “I mean, he’s been really getting into the lore stuff in the last few weeks.”

He says it like Dean doesn’t _know_ that, like Dean didn’t spend a whole bunch of evenings with him, sitting way too close and watching him write down the most ridiculous sounding lore bits, insisting that _that was the way they did it back in the ancient times, and just so you know, Dean, it’s very effective_. It’s an almost fond memory, but it gets quickly destroyed by thinking about Cas, looking into something because Dean wants him to.

_Not interested in that._ “Yeah, how about no,” he says. “I really think I need the help of my dear baby brother here.”

Sam sighs heavily, but Dean can also hear the sound of a chair scraping and Sam scrambling around the bunker. After a few seconds of what sounds like him retrieving something to write, he says, “Alright, give me the info.”

“So long story short, lots of corpses in the same street that were suffocated by something heavy. It just so happens that there was nothing of the sorts at the crime scene. That’s the situation, but look—don’t say I’m silly, okay? Don’t say it, but there was a dog at the scene of the crimes.”

“A dog,” Sam repeats tonelessly. “I know you hate dogs, but that seems a little excessive.”

“Shut up, it’s not _like_ that,” Dean says. “It was all weird and it followed me and it wanted me to throw a twig”—Sam snorts—“and I swear to you that it grew like, from small puppy to almost full-grown dog in the span of a _day_.”

“You sure it’s the same dog?”

“Well— _no_ , but I trust my guts. Dude, this puppy jumped into my _car_. I’m not kidding. Just—look it up.”

“I’m not sure how many results _murder puppy suffocating unsuspecting people_ will yield, but I can look into it,” Sam promises.

“Great,” Dean says relieved and wants to say a half-assed goodbye, something that will excuse him out of this strained conversation, but Sam beats him to it.

“Dean—” he says and Dean freezes, waiting for the inevitable shoe to drop. “I’m not kidding, you _should_ talk to Cas.”

Dean takes a deep breath. His lungs hurt, but he won’t do Sam the satisfaction to be right about Dean actually being sick. “I did talk to Cas,” he says and tries to sound both nonchalant and as fit as ever. He probably fails miserably at both, especially since Sam must know what exactly it was that Deansaid to Cas.

“Dean, I don’t know if you know this, but sometimes you have this habit of saying a lot but seventy percent of it’s bullshit.” Sam’s sounding exasperated. “No offense, but if you had talked to me—or _anyone_ —about this anywhere before everything blew up, I’m sure we could have figured it out. Dude, I’m not even saying I know a lot of what’s going on—I don’t know jack shit—but I do know that you need to cut the crap and be honest with Cas, for once.”

“Thanks, Dr. Phil.” He’s tempted to just hang up right now without saying another word but even he’s not that petty. “You know, the problem here is that no one wants to _hear_ the truth, let alone Cas.”

And that’s not a lie, honest to god it isn’t, but there’s only so much soul-baring that you can stuff into one single ex-angel before he’d inevitably run away. “I’ve loved you for years” takes up basically most of it, and “please stay forever” and “please let’s have sex again” are just the icing on the cake.

“Well, he still deserves it. Whatever you’re going to tell him. But this thing won’t fix itself, so do something.” And Sam hangs up without so much as saying goodbye. Dean curses. Great.

It’s not even 1pmand Jody’s definitely not home yet, so he takes a deep breath and tries to steady himself. So it’s settled—Sam knows about them—how couldn’t he—and that’s...fine, really. Hedoesn’t know what’s going on and that’s becausethere’s no way in hell he knows ~~—~~ how long Dean’s longed for Cas, how many near kisses and love confessions and everything they’ve had—or at least, Dean’s had, because Cas sure as hell doesn’t feel the same way.

Cas, the one who gladly let an actual reaper seduce him because hey, sex. Cas, who now feels scorned because he doesn’t know how fucking your buddy and then being hung up about it works, because there’s nothing to be hung up aboutitfor him, because for him this was a game and he just lost it majorly. His knuckles turn white as he grips the steering wheel even tighter, and it doesn’t help that he coughs every now and then and breathing regularly doesn’t seem like an option anymore.

Shit, he’s going to get _really_ sick. That’s just awesome. He pulls out his phone again and stares blankly at the chat messages from Cas, the innocent, _hey, want to watch a movie? :))_ and Dean’s groaning, _dude, you’re literally 10 feet away from me_ don’t seem so innocent now, and Cas still hasn’t been online. He sighs and types in a quick message—Sam’s probably going to kill him if he doesn’t, and he isn’t up for that right now.

_Sorry about that, but we can still talk when I come back,_ he writes, hitting send before deciding to put a _?_ into it for good measure. There. That’s good. He’s talking. And when he comes back, he has enough time to bullshit his way through all of this. It’s not you, it’s me. You were great, I just don’t—fuck, he doesn’t even know.

There’s a knock on his car door and he gets prepared to flash whatever officer there his badge but it’s not a human at all—it’s a fucking dog, again, and this time he’s so big that he could easily look him in the eye from where Dean’s sitting. “Jesus,” he shouts. This one doesn’t look quite as friendly anymore, and for once, he’s glad for the fact that dogs can’t open car doors.

“Leave me alone!” he says and hopes he doesn’t sound like a total maniac. “Whatever the fuck you are, I’m definitely not inviting you into my car.” Shit, shit, shit, he _did_ invite it into his car, if that’s the same dog, and it sure seems like it is, because it’s so _fixated_ on Dean, and—oh my God, this isn’t good. He doesn’t know why he’s so panicked right now—he’s deals with supernatural beings every day, but this—he doesn’t know this, and he feel like shit, and the panic makes it even harder to breathe and he’s basically at a loss right now.

Jody. That’s his only clear thought right now—he has to call Jody. She’s not far from here, and she can save him. Fuck. The dog is barking now, in a voice that’s way too dark for anything that’s actually just an animal, and his vision blurs as he struggles to find even one deep breath. Heexits Cas’ messages and dials up Jody, hoping to God that she’ll answer quickly.

The dog is hollering against the door now, and somehow syncing with both his rapid heartbeat and the slow crawl of the phone beeping,he’s counting the seconds until Jody finally answers with a confused but alert, “Yeah?”

“Jody,” he says, stumbling over this one simple word. “You’ve gotta—you’ve gotta help me.”

“Alright, what’s wrong? Are you alright? You sound even worse than this morning.” He can hear her hastily stand up in the background, walking until the voices in the distance considerably drop.

“I was—I was just sitting in this fucking car, in my fucking car, and this dog is here and—he tried to open the car. He—he looks really—Jody, I think it wants to kill me. I think this is the thing we’re looking for.”

“I’m sorry, what? Where are you? In your car?”

“Yeah,” Dean breathes. “Jody, please, help me.”

“Dean, I’m trying. Deep breaths. Everything’s alright. Is it able to get into your car? Or can it run fast? If no, just—drive. Drive here, and even if it follows you, we can deal with it. Alright?”

That—does sound like something reasonable. He tries to follow Jody’s advice, taking deep breaths although they make everything hurt, and wonders why he didn’t think of it in the first place. Without even answering, he starts the car, accelerating as fast as possible, and the dog doesn’t follow him. He’s probably twenty over the speed limit but still, his shoulders sag and it’s the first time in what feels like years that he’s felt safe.

“Thank you,” he croaks. “I’ll—I’ll be there in a minute.”

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He’s probably paranoid, checking his car for signs of the dog—hell, he even looks _under_ it, although it shouldn’t be physically possible for the dog to fit —before entering the police station, and he’s nervous. He’s nervous and miserable and a wreck, and of course Cas hasn’t texted him back yet, not that he deserved it anyway.

Jody’s in her office, ushering out a young police officer with a smile when she sees Dean on the other side of the door. The officer looks funnily at Dean when he walks out, which—thank you very much, he already knows he’s not the hottest thing right now. “Hey,” he says when he enters the room and almost immediately feels bad—why is he even here? Because of a dog that scratched his door? Why didn’t he just—man up and deal with it?

“Hey, Dean,” Jody says softly and is by his side in a few confident strides. “You look horrible.”

“Why does everyone keep telling me that?” Dean scoffs. Jody just looks at him pointedly and doesn’t comment, instead walking over to her desk and pulling out a few pills.

“Take these,” she says, “and now tell me everything that’s happened. And I mean it. Everything.” Her gaze is nothing if not piercing, and he wonders if she really means everything like in, every soul-crushing secret he harbors and everything he regrets in his life, in which case he would be here for hours.

“I told you, there’s this weird dog. And I already asked Sam to take a look into it—I swear, this is some creepy supernatural shit.” He takes a short pause to draw a deep breath, suppressing the urge to cough. “And I don’t know why, but it’s—I don’t know, I’m not really feeling that good.” He suddenly feels very small, sitting in this chair like a witness who saw something horrible, and he actually wishes he could just get smaller and smaller and disappear.

He fumbles with a pen in front of him, trying to get the right words out, words that make clear how urgent and weird and _frustrating_ everything is. “I just don’t know what to _do_ ,” he says, and it’s as close to a confession as he can get, on both sides. Truth is, he’s floating around aimlessly ever since he left Cas, and usually—usually he can just turn it off, not think of Cas every day and minute of his life, but it’s getting and harder with every second and it’s _crushing_ him. Fuck.

“Oh, Dean.” Jody’s hand is sliding over the desk, gripping Dean’s hand tight. “It’s alright. _Whatever_ it is, it’s alright. I can take care of the case, and you can go back to my house and rest.”

“No, you don’t even know what you’re getting into,” Dean says, and he feels like he’s talking about two things at once, which is horrifyingly accurate—he just wonders if someone filled _Jody_ in.

“Well, you talked to Sam already, right? I’m pretty sure he’ll come up with something. It’s alright. I’ll have to make a few arrangements but then I can probably leave.”

“No, I’m coming with you,” Dean says determinedly. “You asked me to help the case, so I’m doing this.”

“You shouldn’t be anywhere except a bed right now, Dean Winchester.” She points at meds in front of him. “You’re getting sick and it’s cold outside.”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Dean says before breaking into a coughing fit. Okay, maybe that wasn’t quite true—he feels like death warmed over right now but he knows it’s _nothing_. He doesn’t even have a proper headache, his nose isn’t running—the only thing he’s having trouble with is his throat, and yeah, maybe breathing is getting a bit difficult when he so much as stands for more than two minutes, but there’s no way he’s going to let Jody do this alone. This is also _his_ case, after all.

“Yeah, I can see that.” Jody shakes her head. “I’ve said it once, I’ll say it again, this isn’t worth risking your life over. And I really think it was a mistake calling you, because if anything, you should be in the bunker right now.”

It’s not a lie; he really should be there. Coming here was a mistake, a costly mistake, and he can hardly focus on the case. More than anything, he misses Cas, and he feels like the biggest jackass for what he’s done to him, because whatever they did, Cas—he didn’t deserve that, and now there’s nothing he can do about it.

There are words bubbling up in his throat like bile, and he can’t decide between coughing again or spilling everything, so he does a weird mixture of both. “I don’t think Cas would want me back,” he says, hoping desperately that Jody _understands_ , and of course she does.

Her hands are still clasped around his, and she squeezes them even tighter. “Tell me about it. We have time.”

_No, we don’t_ , is Dean’s first instinct, but that’s bullshit. Of course, they have time. At least—kind of. And even if Cas…even if he does go, then that just means that time didn’t matter anyway. “I fucked up,” he says. “I don’t—I don’t know what kind of picture you got, but I—I fucked up. I fooled around with him, and then I left, and I think he hates me now and I hate myself and it’s—I don’t even know.”

“Sam filled me in,” Jody says and Dean groans. “But honestly, he doesn’t know much either, except that you two apparently got very chummy and then you abruptly drove off. I mean, the story tells itself, but I still have one question—why?”

He blinks. “Why what?” There’s another burst of panic inside him, and he’s asking himself if he was wrong to confide in Jody. She doesn’t—she doesn’t think that it’s somehow wrong of him to do this,doesshe? Well, he knows it was wrong, but not because—not because Cas was a guy.

“Oh, god, Dean, I’m not going to judge you, Jesus. I want to know why you _left_.”

_Because I’m a coward_ , would be the obvious answer, except that’s not necessarily true. Yes, he’s a coward, but it runs deeper than that. It’s just so ingrained in his mind and soul that there’s no chance at normal, and even if dating an ex-angel that just so happens to be in a male vessel that Dean nevertheless wants to climb like a tree isn’t exactly normal, it’s close enough for someone like Dean that it frightens him. It’s not the fact that he loves Cas—he made peace with that long ago—it’s the prospect that Cas loves him back, and how much that would corrupt him.

“Because this was a stupid idea,” he finally says. “It was a mistake, and I figured that a bit of time out would be the best thing before we can go back to normal.” Well, their normal at least, and not the white picket fence normal that no one wants, especially not Cas.

“And you didn’t think that Cas would have loved to know that?”

“There’s a case, Jody. You asked for backup, so I came. It was—I don’t know, what makes you think I was thinking at that time?” He puts his free hand on his chest, trying to get a hold of himself. All this talking is making him seriously breathless.

“This isn’t about the case, Dean,” Jody says pointedly. “And I don’t think it’s ever been. You’re feeling bad, you made a mistake—although I fail to see how having sex with someone you obviously love very dearly is a mistake, as long as everyone consents and there’s no cheating involved. And then you ran away, trying to fix other people’s problems and making yourself literally sick while you’re at it.”

“I’ll put it on my tombstone.”

Jody sighs. “Dean, this isn’t a joke.”

“I know it isn’t. Look, what do you want me to say? That I want to live happily ever after with him? Or what? You don’t get it, do you? You don’t even have anything to say on the topic that Cas is—well, you know.”

“A man?”

Goddammit. Why are people like this? Why don’t they get it? Why is it that Dean has to tell everyone about his struggles? Why is it that this isn’t a problem for anyone else at all? “No, Jesus Christ, Cas is a—he was an _angel_.”

“And you didn’t know that when you decided to sleep with him, or why does that matter?” she asks and really, she doesn’t get it. Okay, maybe Dean doesn’t get it himself, because it’s not like he’s hung up about liking dudes—at least not anymore—but still, it complicates things. You can’t have a white picket fence if you have a miserable guy and an ex-angel, and it’s not like Dean even wants this, and fuck, he doesn’t even know what he wants.

“Well, it matters because—Cas doesn’t _deserve_ this.”

And that’s all it boils down to, Dean thinks. Cas is the one who deserves the better life, after everything he’s been through. He’s been given a new chance at being human, and it’s not like—he can’t just take that away from him and drag him down, into the abyss that is Dean’s soul, and Cas may be sweet and caring but also, very much so, often terribly misguided.

There’s asilence when Jody just looks at him, her hand still clasping his, and then she just shakes her hands and huffs. “Maybe you should let him decide that.”

“Cas isn’t really known for making the most rational decisions.”

“I think that already makes him a Winchester in his own right, doesn’t it?” Jody winks and it’s so absurd that he laughs. She’s right, somehow, which is what he feared, because she just dismisses all of his good—really good—maybe not so good—reasons why Cas and he are a really bad idea. Not that it matters anyway, since— _not interested in that_.

“What do _you_ want, Dean?” She says it calmly, like it’s just another chat about the weather or, more realistically, about the latest monster hunt. Dean starts to rip at the seam of his jeans.

“I don’t know,” he says truthfully, and it hurts to even think about it. “I guess I just want—to finish this case, save some lives, and then head back home and hopefully make it alright again.” What that all entails, fuck it if he knows. “I don’t think Cas even wants anything to do with me anymore, so it doesn’t really matter what I want, does it?”

Jody tilts her head and just smiles. “I don’t think that’s the truth,” she says. “But it’s okay. We’re just going to do that. Solve the case, and then you can go home. Or maybe we can invite the boys and have an intervention.” The last sentence is pure snark, and he can’t help but think how awesome Jody is. She could have been furious—hell, inside she probably is—and she could have been condescending or, worse of all, just plain against dealing with this. He doesn’t even want to think about what his father would have said or—what hurts even more—what his mother would have said. Jody really was something in her own right, and he doesn’t know how he deserves this.

“Just so you know, I didn’t know about any of this yesterday,” Jody says. “I mean, Sam told me bits and bobs over the last few months and—I had my _thoughts_ about this—but I _was_ serious about Alex and Claire. That wasn’t an attempt to rat you out.”

She finally untangles her hand from Dean’s and starts to type something into her computer. “I’m just going to go ahead and write myself out of the late shift so I can go hunt this thing. You said you already told Sam everything about it?” Dean nods. “Okay, then I’m going to call him and ask him if he already got something. If it’s looking really grim, I’ll ask him to come up here, and we’re going to take care of this. Alright?”

It’s not even remotely alright because he wants to help, but he acknowledges that this is kind of hard in his current state. It doesn’t look like it’s getting better either, so maybe he should just acknowledge that he’s been defeated. “Do it,” he says. “But I still want to do what I can.”

“You can drive home, make yourself a nice cup of tea and get a good night’s sleep. Well, afternoon, but I guess we can’t be too picky in our line of profession.” She rolls her eyes. “And if there’s anything you need to talk about, don’t hesitate to call me.”

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He follows Jody’s advice right on, drinking two huge cups of tea and having another one on the nightstand while nervously playing with his phone and watching Netflix on his laptop. It feels lazy in a good way, and if it were any other day, he’d probably declare this the perfect way to pass the time. Except now he’s feeling sick and there’s a case dangling over them, not to mention his love life is probably busted forever. He’s been here for hours, but there’s still no message—not from Sam, Cas nor Jody—and he knows that part of it is because there are just no news yet, but the other part—the one that his whole life depends on—is what worries him.

Somehow, he still doesn’t feel feverish, but more like light-headed, and somewhat nauseous. It definitely wasn’tthe common cold like he’d told Sam. The prospect of maybe having to go to an actual doctor kind of frightens him—not just because his experience with doctors is usually something to dowith the crazy dead asylum kind, but also because he doesn’t want to acknowledge that something is wrong.

There’s a temptation to call Jody, just like she offered, but he doesn’t even know what he would say. All he knows is that she’s probably shacking up with Sam right now, talking about how easy the case is and how awful Dean is—who knows. He can hardly concentrate—everything swims before his eyes and he decides to just follow Jody’s advice again andliedown to sleep, but then the doorbell rings.

It’s probably the fucking mailman, which is just Dean’s luck—he’s hardly in the mood to pick up Jody’s DVD delivery, or lamb’s blood or, quite possibly, both, but since he’s here and Jody’s doing him a huge favor by basically letting him stay here although he's useless, he gets up and takes a huge sip of the lukewarm tea before going downstairs.

He’s not particularly dressed for anything, having stripped out of the fed suit as soon as he got back to Jody’s, and opting for the ridiculous pink and purple flannel pajamas that Jody had bought him and Sam one time (and he absolutely loves them, even though he’d never admit that) but it’s not like he’s going to see the dude more than one time anyway, so he opens the door looking irritated and grumpy and with the shirt on backwards.

“Hey, Jody’s not—” he starts but then his jaw drops. It’s not the mailman—at least Dean’s pretty sure he isn’t, even if he is bringing something Dean really likes. “Cas,” he croaks and suddenly he regrets everything about this decision because he looks like the scorned ex-husband who can’t cope with the loss of his wife which, kind of, is true, but Cas doesn’t have to see that.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says and immediately frowns when he sees Dean’s outfit. Great. Just great. Cas doesn’t even wait for Dean to ask him to come in, instead shoving him away in order to get into Jody’s house like he owns it or something. Hell, he’s never even _been_ here. Dean closes the door, honestly not sure what he’s supposed to do right now. He doesn’t know how long he spent in bed—it’s slowly getting dark outside, but it can’t be _that_ late—and it’s quite a drive, so Cas must have been on the road since at least noon.

“Are you alright? How are you feeling?” Cas asks, as if that’s the first thing he should ask. He should probably—whatever, scream at him, tell him what a fucking coward and dumbass and son of a bitch he is, but no, of course, Cas is concerned with his health.

“I’m just peachy,” he says although they both know it’s a lie. “I already told Sam, I have a cold or something. Jody’s already fixing me up.”

Cas shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything more. He follows Dean into the living room because Dean figures that this is probably the nicest thing to do, and also, he’s fucking tired, and standing for a long time kind of isn’t in the cards right now.

“So, fancy meeting you here,” he says when they sit down and, Jesus, he wants to slap himself in the face. Cas doesn’t seem impressed either, come to think of it—he looks slightly agitated and not happy at all, so maybe he _did_ come here just to release him from this misery.

“Dean, we have a problem here. This is important.”

“Of course we do,” Dean says tonelessly. Because of course, Cas just traveled all the miles just to tell him that he’s a royal ass, and he wouldn’t even blame him.

For a second, there’s something—something like insecurity washing over his face, and he nervously plays with his hands. “It’s not about—us,” he says. “It’s about the—thing you’re hunting.”

“Yeah, Jody’s on that.” Dean shuffles around on the couch, trying to find a position that doesn’t look weird, suddenly very aware of how he looks and smells and—he’s tired, and everything hurts, but he doesn’t want to let this on. He sinks a bit deeper into the cushions, trying to look like he’s just having a really great time.

He doesn’t even know who he’s trying to bullshit here—himself or Cas.

“I know. Sam talked to her, but—” Cas unclenches his hands. “It’s a bit more complicated than that.”

Shit, he left the tea in his room. He really wants to have something to play around with in his hands so that they’re not both looking like angst-ridden teenagers on their first prom, but going upstairs is not an option, both because the tension is already high and also because he’s not sure he would make it—not right now. His heart’s beating way too fast to getoxygen, and just the thought of standing up makes him feel even more dizzy.

“After Sam talked to you on the phone”—and that’s just great, isn’t it, of course Cas was there to hear them talk, of course he was—“we looked up what could fit in the lore. Sam didn’t want to, but I was—well. And we found something, and it’s looking pretty bad.”

“Alright, spill it out.” He really has zero tolerance for all this bullshit right now—he just wanted to go to sleep. It’s amazing how long he’s thought about this—well, about a day now, but it feels like much more than that—and now that Cas is here, he just wants him to leave because it’s not the perfect “I’m-sorry”-kissing-in-the-rain scene which would be the only acceptable situation.

“Dean, I know you hate me, and we can all go back to ignoring each other when I’m done—”

God, this can’t be happening. “That’s not what I fucking want!” he says with as much force as he can handle right now. “But it’s apparently what you want. I tried talking to you!”

“After you _left_.” Cas is still eerily calm, but Dean can see right through this bullshit.

“That’s not the _point_.” Dean wants to say more but his voice is betraying him. He seriously regrets not having brought the tea with him now, not because he wants something to occupy his hands, but because his throat is hurting again, and the fucking dry cough he’s been having all day is catching up to him again. While Dean is busy coughing his lungs out, Cas slides over on his couch, trying to get as close to Dean as possible without actually touching him.

“It’s the whole point, but again, that’s not why I’m here.” Of course he isn’t, because why would Cas come for him. “I’m here because I’m pretty sure that the monster is affecting you, and seeing the way you look I’m confident that that’s true.”

“Jesus, Cas, I know I don’t look too hot right now, but that’s going a bit far, isn’t it?” His jokes fall even flatter than before, probably, but he’s got to at least _try_.

Cas rolls his eyes. “What you’re hunting is probably a Stüpp, which is a very, very distant cousin of thewerewolf. It’s not actually a werewolf, but well, it kind of looks like a wolf or a very huge dog, so the lore is a bit inconclusive on that.”

“That’s the dumbest name I’ve ever heard.”

“Are you actually capable of being serious for once, or do you want to sabotage everything on principle?” Probably the latter, Dean thinks, but he keeps his mouth shut and instead gestures vaguely for Cas to continue.

“It appears as a small dog trying to play with you, and it grows bigger and stronger as you give it more and more attention, and when it gets big enough, it jumps on you and suffocates you. Sound familiar, Dean?”

Well, that does sound like the thing that they’ve been hunting, and he’s also quite positive that the dog that he’s been seeing is the monster, but he’s not quite sure how he’s involved in all of this—well, short of the partto do withthe hunting.

“Usually they attack wanderers and feast right away, but that’s gotten kind of hard in the modern days—less woods, more traffic—so they set out to gradually influence their victim over days and make it get sick before finally snatching it.” He points to Dean. “Like it’s doing it with you. The downside to all of this is that the werewolf can only be seen by the ones affected by it.”

“But that can’t be, because it’s not influencing me,” Dean says slowly. “It followed me here but then it just—left. And it’s not like, following me around or anything—it just got me when I was back in the area, so—”

“But you’re obviously sick. You can’t breathe. Your lungs hurt, your throat hurts, and something big is weighing you down.” Yeah, like, for example, my crushing life choices, Dean thinks. “Jody told me that Glenn was out there the day before his death wanting to get some cough medicine prescribed, too.”

“Well, yeah, but that’s a coincidence. Yeah, I’m sick, but—”

“But what? You just so happen to exhibit the exact same symptoms of the sickness, the one that you said that you share with David Glenn, and it’s just—a coincidence? You don’t need my help?”

“Maybe it is, yeah! Why are you even here? Just to—barge in and tell me that there’s something wrong, that I’m wrong, and that’s all you want to do here? What do you _want_?”

“I came here”—and now he actually looks furious—“because I…I _love_ you.” _Fuck_. “And that doesn’t change just because you are an insufferable bastard and ran away. You are obviously in trouble, and I wanted to help, so I offered to come here.”

“You can’t help.” Dean knows that this is the wrong thing to say, but he can’t help it. He feels terrible, he hadn’t slept properly last night—and Cas is taking away what little sleep he expected to get now—and his head is dizzy. There’s no way Cas can just solve all of this just by—by showing up. Who does he think he is?

Cas inches even closer and puts his arm on Dean’s shoulder. He’s too tired to push him back (and frankly, he doesn’t want to) so he just waits for the heavenly fury to be unleashed. Cas may not be an angel anymore, but he’d definitely still be able to smite him, especially considering the way that he feels right now. “Dean,” he says softly. “I can help you if you _want_ me to help.”

“You probably don’t even want to _help_ me,” Dean says, remembering what Cas had been saying before. “You said that only I can see this—Stark wolf puppy, whatever. So you basically need me to bring this bitch down. That’s all there is.”

“Yes, of course. That’s all I care about.” Cas’ voice is dripping with sarcasm. “I couldn’t possibly care about you, because you are, over everything else, a good friend and I don’t want to lose that. Or _you,_ Dean. Although, you _are_ really making me doubt this right now.”

“Okay, so how do we do this?” He tries to straighten himself up, hoping that maybe Cas’ hand will finally drop off his shoulder. It’s both soothing and menacing, and he doesn’t know if he likes it.

“We don’t do anything right now,” Cas says. “But as soon as Jody’s home, we—I—can make a proper plan. You’re out of the loop for all of this, because you’re—well, you’re basically glorified bait.”

Dean snorts, and it only turns into half a cough. Cas pinches the bridge of his nose, a gesture so human and alluring that his throat feels even tighter.

“We’re going to act like we’re hunting the thing and distract it, giving you time to put a knife through his heart. It’s got to be you,” he adds, “Because, otherwise, it won’t work. The good thing is, we have time. It’s a bit disorienting, seeing as you’re not in his area of influence, so technically we got a few days, although it will go even longer ways as it grows impatient. On the bright side, as shitty as you’re feeling, you’re not technically able to die until he jumps on top of you.”

“Now that’s not even in the least bit concerning.”

Cas shoots him a look, one of the kind that only Cas can have, full of heavenly wrath but also kind of fond, one that always managed to make Dean tingle in all the good and the bad ways. “Well, it shouldn’t be, considering we’re going to do everything in our power to protect you and keep that from happening. Because you’re going to be the one to drill the knife in its heart, and that’s kind of difficult when there’s a werewolf the weight of a truck weighing you down.”

“Okay, now _that’s_ concerning, you have to give me that.”

“Maybe a bit.” There’s a sheepish smile on Cas’ lips, and for a second, it’s almost as if nothing... bad ever happened between them. But Dean is painfully aware that it did, and maybe, just maybe, the good things that happened are the actual relevant part. “But that’s why we’re waiting for Jody. Sam’s been mailing her all the info right now. We need a knife coated in a very special mixture and some rituals and whatnot.”

There’s a short pause between them, one that’s saying _talk about your shit,_ but also, _this is the most horrible thing ever, please can’t Jody come right no_ w, and possibly both are the truth, so he just blurts out the first thing that he’s thinking about that doesn’t feel like he’s juggling a bag of hand grenades. “So, why the fuck does this dog even do that?”

“Um—I don’t know.” Cas squints his eyes. “That wasn’t exactly the part that I was focused on, you know. I’m glad we even found this thing, and it was because Sam was adamant that it’s probably some kind of skinwalker. Which it isn’t, by the way, but there’s a lot of lore on them actually being humans in disguise.”

“So it’s just a fucking _puppy_?”

Cas shrugs. “I mean, legends say that no one ever sees the real shape of them. So they can basically be everything, but yes, a wolf, as a puppy, seems to be the most common theme.”

“That’s nasty. No one can resist puppies. Well, except me.”

There’s some kind of unspoken _yeah, you did a very good job at that_ hanging in the room but thankfully, Cas doesn’t comment on it. They go back to silence again, and even though it’s nice to know that Dean’s probably maybe not _actually_ going to die—at least not now—he still wishes that he’d got some more meds for his pain relief and also some fucking tea which is probably super cold by now.

He’s always been more of a coffee guy, but Jody’s fresh and fruity stuff is actually pretty good, although he’d never admit that to anyone, probably. There’s some nagging in the back of his brain, a mixture between _why did this thing chose me specifically_ and also w _hy do all the supernatural entities in this fucking world seem to be out for me?_ The answer is probably the same for both, and in any case, it’s not one that he wants to hear.

“Actually, I’m—feeling pretty tired,” he says slowly, kind of hoping that Cas doesn’t see it as a dismissal even though it—kind of—is.

“I figured.” Cas sighs. “But it’s okay. There will be time for talking later. I got something in my car that should help you with the breathing. You can go upstairs if you want. Jody will take a while.” Dean wonders idly if Cas specifically told Jody to take her time, but he wouldn’t do that, would he? He’s here because he’s a good friend, as he said, and he doesn’t want to change that, so maybe—maybe they’re both getting what they want out of this.

Well, it’s not like Dean _wants_ to just be Cas’ friend, but he kind of brought this onto himself. As Cas walks down to the car, he slowly makes his way up the stairs, trying to not be too disappointed about it, because Jesus, he’s worse than a high school girl getting her first crush on three different people and not being able to choose between one. But while this would be a luxury problem, he’s now faced with the real possibility that the prospect of…having this thing with Cas, as unrealistic and dumb and bad as it is, is going to haunt him forever.

One more disappointing chapter in the Winchester gospels, probably. He lies down on the bed and closes his eyes, ignoring the cold tea on his bedside. Maybe he’s managed to already fall asleep when Cas enters—he can’t stand the thought of him trying to actually _care_ for him, not after everything that has happened.

Fate isn’t kind to him, so he’s still wide awake as Casturns up with something that definitely doesn’t look like medicine but rather a weird green sponge. “Eat this,” he says, which turns out to be a rather adventurous endeavor. At least Dean doesn’t throw up, although it’s a close call, but it does kind of help ease the pain a little.

Cas sits athis bedside, watching him closely, and it reminds him of the times—what now seemages ago, and itreally _has_ been a few years—when Cas used to do it regularly because he thought that this was how you watched over people. He eventually learned, and although Dean had been happy at that time, he now wished that Cas would just _stay_.

He doesn’t say it, of course. “Do you want to sleep?” Cas asks cautiously. Dean’s hand is almost next to Cas’, casually on the blanket. He nods, although now, without the nagging pain and the feeling that he can’t breathe, he isn’t actually all that tired, and there’s so much that he wants to tell Cas.

“Why didn’t you want to help me wash Baby?” he asks, which is the completely wrong question but also the only one he dares to ask. If Cas isn’t stupid—which he isn’t—he knows what he means anyway. As predicted, Cas just shakes his head. The light is already dim, and he isn’t quite sure if what he sees on Cas’ face is a half-smile or just an exasperated glance.

“Do you really want to do this now?” Cas asks, and it’s probably both. “After you rejected me, _again_?”

“I didn’t reject you,” Dean says compulsively. He actually did, but he didn’t— he didn’t think that Cas would actually _think_ that. Ninety percent of his communication with Cas relies on the fact that he doesn’t _mean_ what he says, and it’s scary to see that being subverted. Maybe Cas is doing this deliberately to fuck with him, or to teach him a lesson, or just because he’s fed up and finally realized what a terrible human being Dean is. Probably all of it.

“In fact, you did. I told you that I love you—again—and you just—carried on with—I don’t—it doesn’t matter.” Cas shakes his head. “It’s no good anyway, isn’t it?”

Dean shakes his head, too, albeit way more tentatively. “I guess not,” he says.

“You made your choice,” Cas says, and it sounds like he’s wanting, desperately needing to hear that no, Dean didn’t make his choice.

But he did.

And Cas did, too.

They both did, and they fucked up, and—they can’t go back now, can they? Not with Cas trying to help himagain because that’s the only thing that Dean is going to need, waddling them both into misery until they both can’t come out anymore, and Cas doesn’t deserve that.

So a hushed _I did_ is the only thing that he says, and Cas’ lips purse before he nods shortly.

“I’m going to stay here,” he says before tentatively adding, “if that’s okay with you. It’s just—I want to make sure that you’re not having any problems.”

That’s more than okay with Dean, although he doesn’t want to sound more ecstatic than he needs to because they just—broke up, or whatever.

Is it breaking up if you’ve never actually had a shot?

“Sure thing,” he says shortly. Cas nods and makes an attempt to get out of bed, and Dean does the stupidest thing, which is to put a hand on Cas’ arm and shake his head.

“You can stay here,” he says. There’s not much in this room anyway, and he doesn’t want Cas to sit on the floor while watching him. “Just—put your feet on the bed, or whatever. Make yourself comfortable.” He shifts restless in his blankets, and Cas warily does as he’s told.

“I’ll let you sleep if Jody turns up,” Cas explains as he makes himself comfortable, slowly sliding until he’s almost lying straight down. “You don’t need to know the logistics, anyway. Easiest hunt ever.” He tries to make a joke, but his voice is strained.

Dean realizes that he never really let go of Cas’ body. With a sigh, he turns around, trying to disentangle himself from Cas without raising suspicion, without appearing either disgusted by Cas or so desperate for his touch that he can hardly make himself let go. It works, at least, until Cas turns around _with_ him.

This wasn’t part of the plan. Well, there had been no plan, but in Dean’s head, it was something like this: fuck up everything, make Cas hate him forever, do the hunt and then fuck up some more. Cas is actually honest-to-god hesitant, much unlike the enthusiasm that he’dshown when they’dfooled around, and also nothing like the snarky talk that they’d had back inthe brightly-lit living room.

“Is this okay?” Cas whispers and Dean suppresses a shiver. Cas’ breath is ghosting over his neck, and slowly, Cas puts his arm around him. It isn’t confining by any means, but he still feels secure and doesn’t want this to end ever. It’s kind of uncomfortable—Cas is half above the blanket, and Dean’s sweating, but he doesn’t move in order to not disturb the delicate truce between them.

Maybe, he thinks, they can have at least this. Fuck up everything, cuddle with Cas, make Cashate him forever _then_. It fits.

The only thing he does is nod. Slowly but surely, Cas moves farther under the blanket until his body is lining upwithDean’s. They’re lying there quietly, just enjoying the comfort of each other—or at least Dean _hopes_ that Cas, somehow, is enjoying this too. He almost drifts off to sleep when Cas starts to gently stroke his hair.

Cas’ mouth is nowhere near his ear but he can still feel his lips moving as he whispers in hushed tones, telling him to go to sleep, that everything is alright, and he wants to tear up in a way that he rarely ever used to in his life. Maybe it’s all of this affecting him or he’s just lovesick or both, but it’s embarrassing and so, he doesn’t say anything, trying to choke back the tears. It’s only when he’s finally about to fall asleep that hehears Cas whispering, “I love you,” again, and it’s the most terrifying thing he’s ever heard before he’s fallen asleep.

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Dean wakes up in the middle of the night with the feeling that the whole world is weighing downon him, gasping for air and with the sound of the blood inhis ears rushing. He remembers Cas lying slightly on top of him, but now there’s only air there which seems to weigh him down even further. He’d never thought this possible. There are voices carrying from the living room. Jody must have come home; it makes sense.

What just hours ago felt like a good out to an awkward situation now just adds to his panic, and he struggles to find some sense in the dark. He’s not sure what woke him up; there are no noises or funny schemes on the wall, and Cas seems to be gone for thewhile—his side of the bed is cold. But something _must_ have disturbed him—sweat is pooling on his neck and his heart is beating way too fast, and he knows that he has to trust his hunter instincts.

There’s the vague feeling that there’s something outside, trying to get his attention, so he cautiously stands up. He manages to step to the window but the only thing that he can see is the empty front porch with Baby parked in the front. There’s a wave of longing washing over him—although not, like usually, about movingright into the arms of Cas, but this time outside, to the other end of the city. He knows this is a spectacularly bad idea, that they’ve made a _plan_ —or at least, something like that—but his fingers are twitching and his breathing speeds up even though he feels like he doesn’t get any oxygen.

He thinks back to Cas slowly stroking his hair, whispering countless _I love you’_ s without wanting anything in return; because that’s how Cas is, and although he’s fed up with Dean, that doesn’t change. It’s more than he can take now—that’s probably not a rational thought considering his state right now.

But the thought of Cas—and Jody, who didn’t deserve to get into any of this—getting in danger—what seemed like an uncomfortable thought hours ago—now seems unfeasible. And this—whatever it is—it’s calling for him, and he feels that he’s going to suffocate if he doesn’t follow it.

It’s _stupid_ , a small rational voice in his head says, but his rapid breathing is telling a different story. He looks at the nightstand; the silver coated knife is still there, glistering in the moonlight, and he just—he has to do it. It’s been nice, the last few hours of peace, although they both knew that it was anything but, and now he has work to do.

Fuck up everything, cuddle with Cas, make him hate him forever for risking his life and possibly dying.

It would be better without Cas. And without Jody. For both of them. As quiet as possible, he steps to the nightstand, taking the knife and his car keys and climbing out of the window with the last bit of strength that he has (this is, he thinks distantly, probably not a good sign). The living room is dimly lit, and he ducks under the windows to avoid being seen.

It’s freezing—his jacket is still in the room, but he figures that he doesn’t necessarily need it.

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Everything passes in a blur; he feels like he’s hyper alert to every bit of brush, of tree in his way, but he stumbles over every curb, leaving him even more breathless than he is already. Sometimes he feels like he’s not breathing at all, then he feels like a thousand needles pass through him, ready to give him the oxygen he needs — or maybe just to kill him; he wouldn’t know.

He finds himself on the street sooner than later. In the moonlight, everything looks almost peaceful. There’s the crossroads, Glenn’s house and even a few lights are on in the houses furthest away from him but he stills more alone than ever.

Which is okay — that’s the way he chose it at least. Just him, the quiet night and the looming shadow coming out of the small woods next to him. He doesn’t even ask _what do you want_ , because he already knows what it is.

There’s nothing left from the small puppy that he saw; he feels more than sees the enormous giant, slowly trotting his way towards him. Cautiously, he grips the handle as tight as possible. “Come on and get me, you piece of shit,” he says with what feels like his last breath when when the beast makes a huge leap and throws him to the floor.

_Fuck_ , Dean thinks for a moment, _this_ _hurts_. And for a moment he feels something like regret — but it’s too late now anyway, with the huge black dog patiently looking at him, and no one will come and safe him in a heroic act, will they? No one _ever_ did that.

“Come on, you fucking piece of shit, let’s do this,” he groans and tries to free his arm from under its belly but the creature is so fucking huge and heavy that it’s more than impossible. “Get off me, you stupid shit!” He manages to feebly elbow the side of it.

It doesn’t even flinch; just continue to stare at him with its unrelenting eyes. Jesus, he’s not going to die like this, is he? Every breath—if he can even call it that — hurts, but he can’t just stop now, and he feels like the dog doesn’t even _want_ him to stop.

There’s an underlying challenge in its eyes, but Dean isn’t sure if he’s up to do it. He tries to wrangle his arm free a few more times when the knife suddenly starts to slip from his grasp. “No, shit,” he curses, trying to get a grip on the damn fucking thing, but his hands are sweaty and he’s, frankly, just exhausted.

He can see the blade reflecting the moonlight when it hits the grass and closes his eyes. So that’s it. The light hurts in his eyes, everything hurts, and he’s going to die like the stupid civilians he was trying to protect. Because you didn’t accept help, there’s a tiny voice in his head. Maybe so, he thinks back, but—

Jesus, his head hurts. The light is almost blinding now and everything is just too much and—

“DEAN!” cuts a voice through the white light. With a jerk that manages to even surprise the dog he opens his eyes and looks around. And there’s Cas alright, fucking Cas, looking like the angel he is—was— in the headlights of a car.

“Cas,” he croaks. There are words of protest and gratitude on his tongue, at the same time, but all he says is “the knife”. With the last bit of his strength he tries to sit up or at least _do_ something when Cas is at his side in a second, picking up the blade and looking at him concerned.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“I’m… fucking… well not,” he says, “help me!” And there it _is_. He closes his eyes again for a moment, trying to catch his breath.

“H- how? Dean, how?”

“Just... stab it!” Dean coughs, trying to get the fucking dog away from him. He already knows that it’s no use, this thing weighs what feels like 1000 pounds and is very much determined to keep suffocating him all the while staring at him like it’s somewhat his fault, and it probably _is_. Cas hovers over him, just a few inches away from the dog and it would be hilarious if it wasn’t so damn serious.

“Dean, I can’t see it,” he says urgently. The silver coated knife is still in his hand and he spins it around, aimlessly stabbing the air in front of him. “What if I stab you?”

“You — fuck — won’t— stab me.” There’s a lot more he wants to say — ranging from you’ve seen the bastard in the lore book he’s huge to fucking do it already you coward to I love you, I’m sorry if I die — but there’s not much room here to even breathe and that definitely takes top priority because Cas would never forgive him if he had to write _death by making snark remarks instead of breathing_ on his tombstone. (That said, it was definitely a death Dean would deserve.)

“Fuck,” Cas whispers and closes his eyes. “I’m so sorry.” And then he actually takes a swig, ramming the knife deep inside the guts of the monster. There’s a split second where Dean fears that this all isn’t real, that Cas is going to kill him and the knife goes right through the huge body like it’s made out of butter but then it comes to a halt, the shiny tip glaring at him through the belly of the dog only a few inches in front of him.

He doesn’t go quietly, although Dean figures that he’s the only one who can actually hear it which is good because he lets out a howling sound Dean never wants to hear again. Cas has opened his eyes again, staring in disbelief at what must have been a levitating knife over Dean.

The monster slowly starts to shrink, not letting go of Dean until the very last moment of his demise as he’s the same cute puppy he encountered again. Son of a bitch, Dean thinks, these things really know how to get to him. Kind of like Cas, but that is a bitter and mean-spirited thought and he immediately curses himself for it when he’s able to do more than just one breath at a time.

In the very last seconds the only thing that seems to be there is a small, newborn dog, the knife way too big for his fragile body until he gets soaked up into the knife and it carelessly falls down on Dean*s chest. He takes a huge breath, the first one that doesn’t hurt since God knows when, and looks at Cas.

There’s not much to say; the reality of what he has done — what Cas has done — and fuck, even what they have done just days ago in the bunker comes crashing in and Dean fears that if he starts to talk now he won’t stop till morning so he just whispers a “thank you”.

Cas rolls his eyes, but the relief is palpable. “Are you alright?” he asks. Dean picks up the knife, looking at the blade. There’s nothing to indicate that there’s actually something in there; it’s not even bloody. It seems like all this thing had been made of was hot air and bricks.

“I guess I am.” There’s still a faint urge to cough but that could very well be the sharp morning air. He really should have taken his jacket.

“I got your jacket in the car,” Cas says, reading his mind. It’s creepy, especially since he’s not an angel anymore, but it’s also comforting.

“You took Baby?” It’s a joke, really, but Cas’ face immediately darkens. “I mean —”

Cas doesn’t let him finish the sentence. “Of course I took the car, you prick! I was worried sick about you. Fuck, it took everything to convince Jody not to go because if someone’s bound to die, then it should be me and not her for being so nice to let you in!”

He’s still hovering above him and Dean hurries to stand up, trying to explain himself but also angry. Who does he think he is, trying to be the one taking the hit instead of him? What is he, some kind of — kind of — fuck, Dean doesn’t even know what he himself his. A miserable bastard, probably, and Cas definitely is the complete opposite of this.

“Don’t you dare look at me like that now.” It’s the first time today that he’s seen him legimitately angry, not the kind of resigned angry with a dose of but I still love you, and Dean can almost feel the heavenly wrath pour out of him that, for all intents and purposes, should not be there. “Don’t look at me like I’m the most holy creature in the world and you’re the literal devil cause you’re _not_. And it’s not even — I tried to put it on the case but Jesus, Dean — you’re always like that. How can you be like that? How much love do other people have to pour into you until you realize that you could mix your own love in?”

“It’s not —” Dean’s not even sure what to say. Although he’s a bit taller than Cas, he feels incredibly small right now. “Everyone I love, I hurt. It’s better to get hurt than to hurt other people. Don’t you get that?”

Cas shakes his head. “You know when you made me watch that terrible romance movie on night? They said somewhere that love shouldn’t hurt.” Dean swallows. That’s it he thinks, that’s where Cas tells me that he can’t take it anymore and leaves for good; one final good deed, because that’s how Cas fucking _is_.

“I disagree,” Cas continues. “These people have certainly never hunted a _thing_ in their life so I forgive them the mistake but really, it’s all about getting hurt in the process. We just have to make sure that we’re doing it together and lift the pain from each other when the other can’t take it.”

There’s a hesitant smile in Cas voice. “If you want to, of course,” he adds, almost like an afterthought.

“What? Together?” Dean asks. Cas nods. “Like in — what, together, exactly?”

“Whatever you want, Dean. I’m not — I’m not going to blackmail you into anything you don’t want. What I did today I did out of love, not to make you feel things for you you don’t. I just offer myself to you like the fool in love I am.” He pauses. “Guess I got that from a bad romance movie, too.”

“I feel a lot for you too,” Dean blurts out. It’s not nearly the same Cas just said for him but it’s the best that will come out. Instead he reaches out, cupping Cas’ shoulder, and Cas responds by pulling him into a hug that should not feel so fucking good.

Maybe it’s because of another near-death experience on top of his countless other ones (plus the ones where he actually died), but everything he feels right now feels a hundred times more intense.

Maybe it’s just because he’s happy.

There standing there for what feels like an eternity until Cas starts to speak. “We should go back to the Impala,” he says. “You’re freezing and probably need some time to rest.”

Dean’s suddenly self aware how this must have look like — a shouting match in the middle of dawn in a forest, followed by them both hugging, him still having a huge knife in his hand. “Yeah, we probably should,” he agrees. There is still a lot left to say, but he feels like they’ve almost made their peace with each other for the time being.

Before they make their way, Cas pulls him into the hug again but this time, he puts a soft kiss on Dean’s lips. “Is that okay?” he asks kind of sheepishly. Dean nods. Fuck yeah, he thinks.

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When they’re back at the Impala Cas tries to toss him the keys but Dean gives them right back. He made it this far without crashing Baby, and the way he mocked him instead of being serious when it matters most still gnaw at him.

“I’m battered,” he still explains. “Just don’t crash it.” Cas, thankfully, doesn’t say anything.

They’re on the road for a while before Dean speaks up again. He feels like Cas is waiting for him to say something. “So — I’m not sure if I thanked you, like — properly. Thanks for saving me. And thanks for showing up in the first place. And thanks for —” He gestures helpless with his hands. “Everything.”

“Everything?” This bastard is not letting him have it, and Dean doesn’t even have the strength to be mad at him about it. Or maybe it’s not about strength; maybe it because Dean deserved that, but not in a bad way — rather in a fucking talk about your feelings, dude, way.

“Yeah. Putting up with me. When I was — when we were — and when I left then.” He feels like a 12 year old having discovered his own porn and shit, he can even feel himself blush. “I mean when we had sex. And I left but you still came back to me.”

“What choice did I have?” Cas says and immediately shakes his head. “I mean — I don’t mean that I didn’t have no other choice. I did. Sam offered to go and I almost took the offer. I meant that I didn’t have a chance because — well, I wasn’t quite ready to give you up yet.”

“That was a good thing, seeing I’m now successfully not dead and all.”

Cas bites his lip. “You know what I mean. Giving you up as in — letting what we had go to waste. Because apart from being very, very nice, it was also basically everything I wanted since — I don’t even know. A long time.”

“You did?” Dean gulps. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Well, I was under the impression that pressuring you with talking about it wouldn’t help, so I simply decided to let you set your own pace. And you _did_ when you kissed me.” He pauses for a moment. “I didn’t account for your own pace to be a game of Sorry with you habitually going backwards.”

That’s probably a very fair metaphor, and he doesn’t even try to refute it. “I was an ass,” he says quietly. “I mean, I’m probably still an ass, I’m — fuck, I’m a mess.”

“Dean, I’ve known you for almost ten years now, and although it doesn’t seem much if you’re an angel, as a human this is tremendous. And I can safely say that I’ve already known that.” The bastard has the cheek to smile like he just made a funny joke and it’s honestly kind of infectious.

“I’m still going to be mad though,” he says. “Just for the sake of it.”

“You earned that.” There almost there now and Dean’s getting nervous again. What will Jody say? Probably nothing, he thinks, and there’s a big chance she knows everything already and is currently on the line with Sam, worried to death.

Cas pulls up on Jody’s street. “Oh no it doesn’t work that way,” he says, but there’s no heat in it. “You’re not allowed to be okay with me being angry at you.”

“I deserve it though.”

“Yes you do, but admitting it is self-depricating, and I thought we agreed on not doing that anymore.”

Dean smiles. “I didn’t agree on no thing.”

“You agreed on loving me,” Cas says casually as if it’s not a _huge fucking thing_ , “And in my book, that means that you agreed on loving yourself too.”

He’s probably right. It’s going to take some getting used to, he thinks, because loving Cas had come easily over the years and himself — well, there’s way too much to hate in his book to actually be content with himself. But he’s going to try, not just for Cas but for himself. It was a stupid ass decision to actually go there on his own, to make everyone worry and Cas risk his life for him, so maybe — maybe there’s something to work with.

“I guess I did,” Dean says and Cas takes it as the acknowledgment it is. One day he’s going to say it, properly, but for now this is enough.  


ctly is this code, kindly shared by Dr-Dean and CenedraRiva:


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